Chapter 4
If there's one thing I've discovered about sorcery in the brief time I've lived in Golgotham, it's that after a hard day of inflicting and lifting curses, cooking up potions, and casting spells, all the average witch or warlock really wants is a hearty meal and a good drink. So Hexe and I headed out to his favorite local restaurant to celebrate his recent windfall.
However, just as we were leaving the house, Hexe's cell phone went off. "I better take this," he said, as he glanced at the caller ID. "What's up? Uh-huh. Nothing-going to grab some dinner at the Calf . . ." He turned to smile at me. "Yes, of course she's here. . . . No, why do you ask?" His smile abruptly disappeared. "That's rather short notice, don't you think? Hold on. Let me ask her." He clapped a hand over the mouthpiece, an exasperated look on his face. "My mother has just invited us over for dinner."
"Tonight?"
"It's up to you. We don't have to do it if you're uncomfortable with the time framev> y. . . ."
My initial surprise was quickly replaced by excitement. This was a Major Step. Although I'd met Hexe's mother on a couple of occasions, I hadn't spent any real time with her since we had started dating.
I took a quick physical assessment of myself, to see if I was presentable. While I wouldn't say I looked like something the cat dragged in, I was keenly aware that I was in dire need of a haircut. Still, the peacoat, turtleneck sweater, and jeans I'd thrown on earlier could pass for dressy casual.
"Tell her I'd love to," I replied.
"Tate says it's okay with her," Hexe translated. "See you soon, Mom."
As he went to hail a cab, I started to get nervous. I told myself that it was only natural. After all, none of my previous boyfriends had mothers who were witches and queens.
Lady Syra lived on Beke Street, between Perdition and Shoemaker, which was only fitting, as it was named in honor of her ancestor, the founder of Golgotham. Her apartment building stood fifteen stories tall, towering over its humbler neighbors like a giant. With its multi-paned metal window casements, quatrefoil-pierced balconies, and crenellated parapets, it looked more like a neo-Gothic castle than a condo co-op.
"Now that's swanky," I said, pointing to the copper-sheathed observatory that crowned the penthouse.
"It was a gift from President Kennedy, after my mother warned him about Dallas in '63," Hexe said proudly. "Too bad he chose to ignore her concerning San Francisco in '68."
The ground floor of the apartment building boasted a limestone pointed-arch entryway with a massive oaken double door. As we approached, a handsome, broad-shouldered huldu, dressed in immaculate doorman's livery, stepped forward to greet us.
"Good evening, Serenity," the doorman said, his bull's tail swishing discreetly below the hem of his long coat.
"Hello, Knute," Hexe replied with a slight nod.
The lobby was as cavernous as a cathedral, lit not by electricity but by balls of blue-white witchfire that bobbed near the ceiling like helium balloons. As we headed to the elevator bank, the doors opened and a satyr tottered out of the car.
Up to this point, my only encounter with such a creature had been when one had tried to kidnap both me and Nessie while we were riding in a rickshaw. Although I knew I shouldn't judge an entire species by one bad apple, I automatically took half a step back.
Unlike the satyr who'd tried to carry me off, this one was nattily dressed in a tailored dinner jacket and matching waistcoat, with a lavender cravat tied about his neck. In one hand he carried a golden-headed cane engraved with the initials GG, which he used to steady himself. He sported a neatly trimmed goatee, and his carefully coiffed hair was styled to accommodate the curling goat horns that jutted from his temples.
Upon spotting Hexe, the satyr paused to screw a gold-rimmed monocle into his left eye. "Pan's beard!" he laughed. "How've you been doing, my boy?"
"I've been keeping myself busy, Giles," Hexe replied.
"So I see," the satyr replied archly, giving me an appreciative once-over. "Well, I must be off," he said, raising his cane in a farewell salute. "I mustn't keep Custium ba a certain faun waiting. Tell your mother I said hello." With that he hurried across the foyer, his hooves clattering loudly against the marble-clad floor.
"Who was that?" I asked as we stepped into an elevator that now smelled of equal parts barnyard and high-end cologne.
"That was Giles Gruff, businessman and notorious bon vivant," Hexe explained. "He owns the rickshaw business in Golgotham, among other things. He is extremely conscious of how society views his people, and goes to great length to comport himself in as gentlemanly a fashion as possible. He can be a bit pretentious at times, but he's an okay sort. He's been our downstairs neighbor for as long as I can remember."
"I thought you grew up in the boardinghouse," I said.
"No, that was my mother's and Uncle Esau's childhood home," he explained. "I did spend a great deal of time there with my grandparents, Eben and Lyra, though. I remember playing hide-and-seek with my grandfather in the hedge maze when I was little."
Just then the elevator doors opened, revealing the foyer outside the penthouse. Having grown up surrounded by crystal chandeliers and antique furniture, I wasn't impressed with the lobby's decor so much as I was with the minotaur seated on a marble bench in front of the penthouse door.
The bull-headed man put aside the newspaper he'd been reading and snorted, causing the large metal ring hanging from the center of his nose to swing like a doorknocker. The horns jutting from his massive skull were the diameter of a man's wrist, the points capped by a pair of golden balls. His shoulders were as wide as an ox yoke, his body covered in rippling muscles that strained against the jogging suit he wore, and he had the biggest, softest, most beautiful brown eyes I'd ever seen.
"Greetings, Serenity," he mooed.
"Good evening, Elmer," Hexe replied with a smile.
It was then that I recognized the minotaur as one of the many half-beasts Boss Marz had held captive and forced to fight to the death for the amusement of gamblers. The last time I'd seen him, he was wearing a werewolf on the end of his horns.
"How do you like your new job?" Hexe asked.
"I like very much," Elmer said as he opened the penthouse door, speaking with a very thick Mediterranean accent. "Your mother . . . good woman."
"Yes, she is," Hexe agreed, as he escorted me across the threshold.
The first thing I noticed upon entering the apartment was a strange suit of armor set just inside the foyer, as if in challenge to unwanted visitors. The helm, breastplate, gauntlets, and greaves were elaborately detailed, much like those of a samurai warrior, and fashioned from a strange iridescent material that gleamed like the carapace of a scarab. In one gloved hand was a long metal pike similar to the hooks used to train elephants.
"What is this thing made of?" I asked, staring in fascination at the glittering armor. "I've never seen metal like this before."
"That's because it's dragon skin, Miss Eresby."
Lady Syra was standing next to her son, watching me with a little smile on her face. I had not seen or heard her arrive. She was dressed in a pair of black capri pants, ballet flats, and a cropped blouse with batwing sleeves. Her peacock blue hair was worn in an upswept style that accentuated her delicately Cer et flat arched brows and golden eyes. She still smelled, as I remembered, of roses and jasmine and wore what, at first glance, looked like an ivory necklace shaped like a serpent about her throat.
"May I touch it?" I asked, barely able to contain my excitement.
"Be my guest."
I could hardly keep my hands from trembling as I ran my fingers along the breastplate of the armor. It felt like a strange mixture of leather, horn, and fiberglass, and seemed both lightweight and extremely resilient. The last dragons had been put to death over a thousand years ago, and yet here was a relic fashioned from the remains of one. The realization that I now knew what a dragon's skin felt like was at the same time deeply exhilarating and tremendously sad.
"The ancient Kymerans made a number of items from the sheds of their dragons," Lady Syra explained as I inspected the armor. "This particular suit has been in the family since before the sinking of Kymera. It was worn by my ancestor Lord Bexe."
"The last Witch King," I said in wonderment.
"Or so the human history books would have it." She smiled wryly. "In any case, he was the last to rule over a true kingdom. The royal family still abides, as you well know. Tell me, Tate, what do you think of my new footman?"
"You mean Elmer? I thought he was your bodyguard!"
"Believe me, I have all the protection I might possibly need right here." Lady Syra laughed, placing a hand on the tiny albino snake twined about her throat, mouth-to-tail. "But as Witch Queen, I am honor-bound to help all of Golgotham's citizens, not just the Kymerans. It is a covenant that dates back to the Sufferance, and one the royal family takes very seriously. Elmer's such a dear boy-I would hate to see him fall back into the hands of those who would abuse his good nature. Plus, he is exceptionally handy when it comes to rearranging the furniture. Come, let's sit down. The foyer is no place to chat."
As I followed Lady Syra to the living room, we passed down a hallway whose walls were covered with framed photographs: Here was a picture of Lady Syra with Elvis; there was one of her having tea with Queen Elizabeth II; and over there was a photo of her at John Lennon's fiftieth birthday party, sitting at a table with Jimi Hendrix and Keith Moon. She had led quite the glamorous jet-setting life.
The living room was a large open area with a sunken conversation pit, and a signed Warhol serigraph of Lady Syra hung over the fireplace. Arranged on the mantelpiece was a collection of unusual bric-a-brac, from an African fetish doll bristling with nails to a fire opal the size of an ostrich egg set on a pedestal and sealed under a glass dome.
"Would you care for a smoke before dinner?" Lady Syra asked as we sat down, gesturing to the collection of hookahs arrayed on the coffee table. "I have a wide variety of shisha tobaccos-hazelnut, mocha . . . perhaps some lemon mint?"
"No, thank you," I replied as she loaded the bowl of one of the water pipes with a sticky mixture that smelled of equal parts Turkish tobacco and cognac. "I don't smoke."
"Ah, yes! Cancer!" Lady Syra said, clucking her tongue in self-reproach. "How thoughtless of me! Would you care for a champagne cocktail instead?"
"That would be lovely."
Lady Syra clapped her hands and a Kymeran butler with a vermilion buzz c Cmil.ut stepped into the room, an empty silver serving tray balanced on his right hand.
"Yes, Your Highness?"
"Miss Eresby would like a champagne cocktail, Amos."
"Very good, ma'am."
The butler moved to where I was seated and leaned forward, extending the empty serving tray to me. I glanced at Hexe in confusion, but he did not act as if anything was at all unusual. When I looked back at Amos, I was startled to see a champagne flute full of bubbly on the silver platter.
"Thank you," I said as I took the proffered glass, trying not to look impressed. The last thing I wanted to do was come across as a nump in front of Lady Syra.
"So-why did you really invite us to dinner, Mother?" Hexe asked, folding his arms across his chest.
"What a question!" she replied, blowing twin streams of hookah smoke from her nostrils. "Is it so strange for me to want to share a meal with my only son and his new friend? Why, I've barely seen the two of you since that unpleasantness with Boss Marz."
"Dinner is ready, Your Majesty," Amos announced, even though, as far as I could tell, he had yet to leave the room.
"About time! I'm positively famished!" Lady Syra exclaimed. "Do bring your drink along with you, Miss Eresby."
"Please, Lady Syra-I'd rather you call me Tate."
"You're right." The Witch Queen smiled. "There's no need to be so formal. I will call you Tate and you shall call me Syra."
The dining room was off the living room, and easily the same size as the one in my parents' home. The table was long enough to accommodate up to twelve guests, outfitted with an Irish linen tablecloth, the finest cut crystal, and Tiffany flatware. In the middle was a centerpiece composed of deep-hued fruits arranged on a large platter around dark pillar candles. Overhead hung a French Renaissance Gothic chandelier decorated with gargoyle heads, with tiny balls of blue-white witchfire glowing inside their gaping maws.
As I made myself comfortable at the table, Amos the butler placed an empty plate in front of me. In the weeks since arriving in Golgotham, I had acquired a taste for certain Kymeran cuisine, such as rook pie and ostrich steak. But there were some "delicacies" I simply could not stomach. I hoped whatever Amos had in store for us didn't involve bugs, snakes, or the boiled heads of barnyard animals. I tentatively sniffed the air, in hopes of preparing myself for whatever culinary "treat" lay ahead, but all I could smell was the butler's own unique scent of black pepper and cinnamon.
"You've truly outdone yourself, Amos!" Lady Syra exclaimed in delight.
I looked over at my hostess, confused as to why she would be moved to compliment her butler so lavishly for simply putting an empty plate in front of her. To my surprise, I saw a heaping serving of crawfish etouffee, even though Amos had yet to leave the room.
Baffled, I glanced down at my own plate and was rewarded by the sight of a sizzling, thick-cut medium-rare New York strip and a loaded baked potato. I gasped in surprise and looked back up at Amos. "Where did this come from? How did you-? I mean, you haven't moved an inch!"
"Amos is a wizard in the kitchen," Lady Syra explained, amused by my bewilderment. "He charms my dishes, so that they ma C thmosnifest whatever it is you're hungry for. It's a very rare skill, and I'm lucky to have him in my service."
"Madame is too kind," Amos said, blushing slightly. "If everything is to your satisfaction, I must finish charming the dessert cart."
Once the butler left the dining room, Hexe put down his fork and turned to face Lady Syra. "I know when something's up, Mom. You wouldn't have invited us for a friendly little dinner on such short notice if you didn't have an ulterior motive."
I was all too familiar with dinner table confrontations in my own family, and had long ago mastered the skill of keeping my head low and my eyes fixed on my plate. I started cutting into my steak, praying that the drama between mother and son would be relatively mild and over by the time Amos returned with that magic dessert cart of his.
Lady Syra heaved a deep sigh. "I had hoped we could forestall this conversation until after dinner. But the truth of the matter is, Hexe, I've been getting complaints about your behavior."
"What kind of complaints?" Hexe demanded sharply. "About what? From whom?"
"Some of the more conservative members of the Kymeran community have complained about you publicly flaunting your relationship with Tate. . . ."
I looked up, my dinner totally forgotten. Suddenly I was very much a part of what was going on.
"You call going out to dinner and walking hand in hand in public flaunting?" he snapped, wadding up his napkin and hurling it to the floor. "By the sunken spires, you make it sound like we've been having sex on our front doorstep!"
"I know it sounds outrageous," Lady Syra said, shifting about uncomfortably. "But you have to understand that this is not a good time for this sort of controversy. There is already significant anxiety concerning the increasing infiltration of numps-I mean, humans-into traditional Golgothamite venues. Some see you carrying on a romantic relationship with one of them as a conflict of interest regarding the gentrification issue."
"That's absolute spraint, and you know it. I'm not going to shun the woman I love simply to make a bunch of blue-haired bigots happy!"
"Do you truly love this woman?" Lady Syra's golden eyes widened in surprise, as if it had never occurred to her that our relationship was anything other than physical.
Hexe paused and looked across the table at me. Suddenly the anger and irritation drained from his face, to be replaced by a gentle smile. For that brief moment, everything else disappeared, and we were the only ones that mattered in the room.
"Yes," he replied, reaching out to take my hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.
I expected Lady Syra to smile and nod her head upon hearing her son confess his true feelings. After all, the whole world loves a lover, right? Instead, she began knotting and unknotting her cloth napkin. "Oh my." She sighed in exasperation. "That complicates things even further."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Dalliances are one thing, but a committed relationship is something else entirely!" she explained.
"So Hexe has a human girlfriend-what's the big deal?" I asked.
"The 'big deal,' as you put it, is that you'r C thman ge not a 'girlfriend.' There is no such thing when it comes to the Heir Apparent. There are only consorts and concubines," Lady Syra said pointedly. "Hexe, you know as well as I do that our private lives are not entirely our own. We have certain obligations to our people, no matter how difficult we find them to bear."
"Times have changed," he replied testily. "Just because you allowed Grandfather and Uncle Esau to ruin your happiness doesn't give you the right to destroy mine." Lady Syra flinched and quickly looked away. As soon as the words left his lips, Hexe's outrage disappeared, and he got up and put his arms around his mother. "I'm sorry I said that to you, of all people! It was a cruel and thoughtless thing to do."
"I understand your frustration, sweetheart," Lady Syra said with a sad smile as she caressed her son's cheek. "I know what it's like to face disapproval in the name of love. But you needn't fear, darling-I am not going to do as Papa did. I'm not going to forbid you from seeing Tate. However, I am concerned that the two of you don't fully understand the social and personal turmoil a mixed relationship such as yours creates. I don't want to see either of you hurt."
"I appreciate what you're trying to say, Lady-I mean, Syra," I replied. "And I realize it comes from genuine concern for our safety. I'm only now starting to comprehend the challenges Hexe and I are going to face as a couple; and I have to admit, it worries me at times. But, in the end, I believe that what we have is worth fighting for."
"You are both very courageous," Lady Syra said, dabbing at the corner of her eye with her napkin. "Far, far braver than I was at your age."
"It was different then, Mom," Hexe said gently.
"Not as much as you think." She sighed, patting his hand.
The quiet moment between mother and son was broken by raised voices on the other side of the dining room doors, followed by a loud rumbling sound, as if someone was hastily moving a large piece of furniture.
"Get out of my way, kitchen-witch!"
The doors to the dining room flew open to reveal Amos and Elmer arguing with Lady Syra's older brother, Esau. Great-as if things weren't already I, Claudius enough.
The minotaur took a tentative step forward, a pained look on his face. "I am sorry, Lady Syra. I told man you were busy. But he threaten to turn me into ox."
"It's all right, Elmer," Lady Syra said, getting to her feet. "Please return to your station before you get caught in the chandelier again."
"Yes, ma'am," the minotaur replied, obviously grateful that he no longer had to be in Esau's company.
The necromancer strode into the dining room as if he were in his own home, shooing Amos away with an imperious wave of his hand. He was dressed in a black wool coat with caped shoulders, and he had shoulder-length hair of dark indigo laced with streaks of ice blue at the temples. While he had the same distinctive golden eyes as Lady Syra and Hexe, they lacked his sister's graciousness and his nephew's warmth.
"Syra! I need to speak to you immediately!" Esau announced, only to halt in midstep upon catching sight of Hexe. "Of course!" he sneered, his eyes narrowing. "I shouldn't be surprised to find you here, clutching your mother's skirts."
"W Csiz't ahat in the name of the Outer Dark are you doing here, Esau?" Lady Syra asked in exasperation.
Syra's brother ignored her question, and instead pointed a finger at Hexe. "How dare you lift my curse!"
"It is my duty as a healer and adherent to the Right Hand Path to serve a client to my fullest ability, no matter what the circumstance," Hexe replied stonily.
"Don't hand me that spraint about protecting clients!" Esau said with a nasty laugh. "The nump wasn't one of your regulars-she goes to that inept little juggler, Kama."
"It was Kama who asked for my assistance," Hexe explained. "I was honor-bound to help. Besides, I didn't realize the curse was your work until I removed it."
"Well, thanks to your meddling, my client is demanding a refund!" Esau said angrily. "In the thirty years I've been dealing in afflictions, I have never had to return money to a client! And I expect you to make good on what you've cost me!"
"Have you lost your mind?" Hexe snorted derisively. "You accuse me of hiding behind my mother, but you're the one who's constantly running to your sister to complain about me, instead of coming to my home and addressing your grievances to my face."
"You've made sure I'll never set foot in that house again," Esau snapped. "By renting out a room to a garden-variety nump, you've contaminated my childhood home and opened the door for others to follow!" Suddenly the necromancer did a double take in my direction. "What is that doing here?" he demanded, focusing a look of such venomous hatred upon me that my mouth went dry. I attempted to return his glare, but could not hold my gaze; it was like looking into the eyes of a king cobra readying to strike.
"Her name is Tate," Hexe said firmly, his hands curling into fists. "And she's here with me."
"I'd heard rumors that your son was dallying with a nump," Esau sneered. "Now I see it's true. I shouldn't be surprised that he's inherited his mother's poor taste in bed partners."
Lady Syra gasped as if her brother had slapped her. Hexe stepped forward, his eyes flashing like polished shields. "You'll apologize to my mother and my girlfriend right this minute!"
"Or you'll do what, exactly?" Esau scoffed. "You're not wizard enough to make me do anything, whelp!"
"Just try me and see, old man."
"That's enough, Esau!" Lady Syra snapped, struggling to recover control of the situation. "And the same goes for you, Hexe! This is neither the time nor the place for a duel."
If Esau heard his sister, he showed no sign of it. Instead, his black, hateful gaze was now riveted on Hexe. "It's time someone taught you a lesson about sticking your nose into Left-Handed business," he said, flipping his half-cape out of the way.
"I get enough of this foolishness already. I don't need it in my own house," Lady Syra shouted. "Esau, I command you to stand down!"
Suddenly an orb of fire shot from the necromancer's left hand. I recognized hellfire when I saw it, and I knew it burns whatever it touches to the bone. I automatically jumped to my feet, only to have Lady Syra snare my wrist, anchoring me to the spot as if I'd been grabbed by one of my own sculptures.
Hexe raised h CHexnchoringis right hand and with a flick of his wrist sent the fiery projectile back the way it had come, like a tennis player returning an opening serve. Esau lifted his own right hand in an attempt to deflect the returning volley, but the fireball's course remained unchanged and he was forced to jump out of the way as it zoomed past and struck the far end of the dining table, where it exploded like a paintball full of phosphorous. The flames spread rapidly, racing along the length of the tablecloth and jumping onto the adjoining chairs.
Lady Syra let go of my hand and stretched her arms above her head, tilting her head back as she began to recite an incantation in a language that was old when the first pyramids were raised. Water poured down from nowhere, soaking everyone and everything in the dining room. The charred dining table hissed like a snake as the hellfire was extinguished. The Witch Queen then closed her hands into fists and the downpour halted as if turned off at a faucet.
All of us were drenched, but Esau looked like he'd fallen into a carnival dunk tank, with his dark hair plastered to his skull and water dripping from his heavy woolen coat. It was the first time I'd ever seen the necromancer caught off balance, and I allowed myself a giggle. Esau glared daggers at me, but this time I held my ground, refusing to be intimidated by someone who looked like a half-drowned rat.
"How dare you-?!" the Witch Queen said in a voice as sharp and steely as a surgeon's scalpel. "You enter my home uninvited, threaten my servants, insult both me and my guest, attack my son, and then, to add injury to insult, set fire to my good tablecloth!"
"I'll admit that things got a little out of control," Esau said as he tried to wring the rainwater from his sodden overcoat. "But it's not my fault-your brat challenged me!"
"Yeah, you sure schooled me in the superiority of the Left Hand," Hexe snorted.
Esau opened his mouth to retort, only to fall silent under the Witch Queen's withering stare.
"I don't care how much business Hexe has cost you, Esau-not even a member of the royal family is permitted to raise a left hand against the Heir Apparent! By Kymeran law, what you just did qualifies as attempted regicide, with a penalty of death. For years I have tolerated your bullying and disrespect out of a misplaced sense of loyalty and, yes, guilt. But I can no longer ignore or excuse your behavior.
"What I am about to say, Esau, does not come easy to me, but you have left me no choice. You are my brother. When we were children, I loved you and looked up to you. But that was before you chose to walk the Left Hand Path. The lifestyle you embrace has turned the boy I once adored into a bitter, twisted stranger. I would give anything to have the brother I knew and loved restored to me, but I realize now that you are too far down the spiral to ever return." She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, readying herself for what she had to say. "Esau: I now speak to you not as your sister but as the Witch Queen. As of this moment forward, you are banished from the royal presence. I never wish to see your face or hear your voice again. Should you cross my path, I will have no choice but to treat you as a hostile and engage you in ritual combat. Now leave me, and consider yourself lucky I do not banish you from Golgotham as well."
For the briefest moment there was a flicker of sorrow in Esau's golden eyes, like a cloud scudding across the face of the moon. Then the darkness returned, dimming what little light remained within him.
Lady CizeuseSyra gestured to the door of the dining room, which swung open of its own accord, revealing a worried Amos standing on the threshold. Esau bowed stiffly to his sister, then turned on his heel and strode from the room without a backward glance.
Lady Syra watched him go, her hands clasped tightly before her. Save for the single tear running down her cheek, it was as if she was made of stone, neither breathing nor blinking until Hexe touched her shoulder. Only then did she start, as if waking from a dream.
"That was a very difficult and unpleasant thing for me to do. But it was inevitable," she said wearily. "I'm sorry you were subjected to such poor manners by a member of my family, Tate. Normally my dinner guests needn't fear dying in a house fire. I can see why my son is so taken with you-you possess a strong lick of courage. Not everyone would have kept their head under such circumstances. Now, if you don't mind-Amos and I need to address the damage done to my home. I trust you can find your way out."
Hexe nodded his understanding, and kissed his mother on the forehead. She smiled wanly and caressed his cheek before motioning for Amos to join her in the heavily sodden and badly charred dining room.
As we passed by the wall of photographs on our way out, my eye was caught by an old Kodachrome that showed a teenaged Lady Syra dressed in a miniskirt, standing with her arm about the shoulder of a handsome, slightly older Kymeran man with an indigo blue Beatles haircut, dressed in a paisley-print Nehru jacket. With a start, I realized the friendly, smiling face and kind, caring golden eyes belonged to Esau.